


True Voyage

by gwinny3k (icecrystal2k)



Category: Star Trek
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icecrystal2k/pseuds/gwinny3k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-night stand on shore leave. Complications ensue. </p><p>The brief: reboot Scotty (Simon Pegg)/a Nick Frost-inspired OMC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Voyage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KarliMeaghan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarliMeaghan/gifts).



To be whole is to be part;  
 **true voyage** is return.  
le guin | the dispossessed

One of the messy workbenches at Starfleet Academy. A pulse and hum and only a few sparks, and suddenly the magnetic canisters started to fill, and a loud, Glaswegian voice cut the silence: “It worked! It bloody worked! They’re gonna make us admirals for this.”

Keenser made a doubtful noise.

“Okay, maybe not admirals. But they’re gonna grovel, they’re gonna be bloody grateful, when they can recycle the dishware right with the shite and it all sorts itself out in the molecular matrix wash. No more bulky separate subsystems for, you know... _subsystems_. We’ll get rid of all those processing tanks, hey? And who’ll they have to thank? Montgomery Scott!"

A long unblinking look.

“ _Yes_ , and Keenser. Come on, hero, let’s have a drink.”

 

Shore leave meant bored, as far as Scotty was concerned. But McCoy’s concern about his ‘increasingly erratic gibbering’ meant he was barred from the refit operations for a full 48. A month before the biggest adventure of their lives, and a whole ship to get in order, every piece of equipment to pour over, make sure all his bairns were safely tucked in, and he’d been bloody grounded.

Keenser, that dire little troll, was done celebrating long before Scotty. He staggered out under the influence of half a bottle, chirping about an ‘early night’. Scotty was left to slosh around the bar on his own, following the flow of strobe lights and bass and dancing. It all pushed him to the bar, lit like a glorious white neon beacon calling him to safe to shore. He slid onto a stool and looked into his empty glass, flashing like a mini disco catching all the lights. Not as young as he used to be, if he was dazzled after two drinks. His head was spinning.

Part of it was just being back on Earth again, with all these _people_. After months stuck in that frozen pit with nothing but the extranet for company, suddenly everyone had a smell and a size and eyes that actually looked back at you. He’d blown enough gaskets since rejoining civilization, a dozen ladies had gotten a crash course in manifold calibration (good work, he was proud of it), but he was still buzzing with energy in reserve, an endless supply of it, like he’d broken the laws of physics. He was sure the Starfleet head doctors could tell him all about it; what he knew was he felt like a boy of sixteen again, and he was going to love it while it lasted.

(And like a boy of sixteen, what he wanted was novelty, and frequency, and doing it all again the next night. Like lonely off-duty hours refreshing the screen and moving on, one face had nothing to do with the next or the next or the next. The shrinks might have something to say about that, too. Well, forget them.)

Suddenly keenly alone, Scotty picked his head up. He half-turned on the bar stool and ran his gaze around the room. Dancing, drinking, laughing knots of people. All born probably a decade or more after he was. He was dressed for the young set, black jacket, silver shirt with glowing blue thread at the cuffs and collar - but no one met his eye and he had a twinge of self-consciousness, of absurdity, like a peacock stuck in last season’s plumage. He might as well be wearing a giant flashing sign - _aging officer on the pull._ He felt like a particularly dangly pair of bollocks.

Then he shook the mood off. Montgomery Scott, he told himself, the solution is obvious: you need another drink.

He waggled his finger at the bartender, who was up to his elbows mixing something green and smoking, and got a quick nod. The bartender turned away. Left to his own devices again, Scotty looked left and right. The guy next to him was, a big, solid lad, made all the more imposing by the grey sweatshirt stretched across his shoulders. He hadn’t moved a muscle in a good long while. He was staring down at his communicator, clutched in one hand on the sleek glass bartop.

“Buy you a drink?” Scotty asked, off the cuff, off-handedly, because he was feeling generous and lonely.

The man snapped his communicator closed. “Sure, mate.”

There was an instant note of _home_ in the voice, tones of the same damp and drippy island that Scotty loved to death... at least for short visits. The dark-haired guy turned to him - cute face, strong nose, that was Scotty’s next impression - and found himself face to face with a superior officer.

He suddenly got shy. “Sorry, sir.”

 _Sir_. Scotty cringed. Had he forgotten to take off his damn braids? Scotty brushed his collar just to be sure. Nope; must be one of theirs.

“Starfleet?” Scotty asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“That makes two of us,” he said cheerfully. “What’re you drinking?”

“Synthahol.”

“Jesus,” Scotty said, disappointed.

The lad’s cheeks got red.

“No, no, sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean that. Uh. You know me?”

It was a stupid question, really - how many panels and debriefings had the crew sat through, how many news cameras and mics had been shoved in their faces, how many profiles and features had they all done for the bulletins - all last year, after Khan, and now that they were heading to the stars - civvies and Starfleet, it was hard not to know who he was. He’d seen so much of his own face, he got sick of the sight while he shaved.

“Lieutenant Commander Scott,” the man said promptly, as if this was a pop quiz and he was grateful he had one of the answers.

Scotty nodded. “Aye, at your service.” A drink, a small burp. “And I’ve still no idea who you are,” Scotty reminded him, trying to strike a friendly note - the guy’s cheekbones were getting redder and redder.

“Ensign Woolley. David. Sir. R&D, Synthetic Synapse and Neuroplasticity.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Scotty observed.

“Yes, sir.”

“You can drop that, for a start. We’re not in uniform now. Montgomery Scott - friends call me Scotty.” Scotty slapped his shoulder. “So, David. Let me get you a real drink.”

 

After a glass of the real stuff, David was a lot more willing to talk. He had been waiting for someone. They hadn't shown. That explained the lovelorn communicator act. But Scotty had a motto tonight - forget ‘em - and it was infectious. Another drink and Scotty was on his feet, ready to lead them to glory - not sure what kind, half-pissed and wearing a stupid shirt, but they’d think of something. The bar was getting crowded. The dance floor doubly so

“I said, come over here,” Scotty said, raising his voice right in David’s ear. He wanted to be closer to the action.

“There aren’t any tables,” David tried to explain again, over the din, but Scotty grinned. He liked listing against David. He was so… solid.

“You’re forgetting, laddie, I’m an officer! Half of these pups -” No need to tell David he felt like a vulture in a nursery; he shook his head again. “C’mon!”

A tangle of ambitious enlisted gave up their booth. They hit the dance floor and Scotty got a little contemplative as he watched David watching them. He couldn’t shake the vertigo. It wasn’t just the atmosphere - or, it was the atmosphere, and the way everyone in this room was a survivor. It was loud, physical, _defiant_.

Scotty was feeling pretty bloody defiant, too. A mad rush of pride swept over him, pride for the Enterprise, for Earth, for all these bright young things who weren’t going to let a bitter old man’s mistakes be the end. He held up his glass. “To Starfleet, hm?”

David knocked their glasses together. He took a measured sip and watched over the rim as Scotty drained his to the bottom.

Scotty came up grinning. “Tell me: why’d you join up?”

David shrugged.

All right. Sourpuss. Scotty clunked his glass back onto the table. “What, you didn’t come for the grand adventure, the discovery, the… ladies…” Two of them, off-duty with their hair down, and six breasts between them, giggled as they passed the table.

His new friend looked up at them as they went.

“That’s Crewman Sanders,” Scotty said appreciatively. “I could introduce you. One for each of us. Or _three_ for each of us.”

David glanced at them again, politely, but it was purely academic. It was, as Dr. McCoy might say, a Spock look.

“So, what are you doing here on your own?” David asked, turning his attention back to Scotty.

“Just looking for a good time.” Someone in this bar would give him a second glance. He just had to find them.

David nodded thoughtfully, with those brown attentive eyes. Scotty had the uncomfortable sense of being terribly obvious, like transparent aluminum, like David could see right through him. And Scotty realized - it’s _you_.

 

Montgomery Scott was a miracle worker. He had a gift. He could untangle the nastiest puzzle given time (and a sufficient supply of distilled comfort). Sometimes he had to tear the problem to little tiny bits and examine them down to the molecule, sometimes it was a flash of intuition, like staring at the night sky and having the stars align before your eyes. Sometimes it was like something holy. Sometimes it was like something cursed. Sometimes… sometimes he just knew.

The music was pounding right through him. He grinned at David, his serious, long face, while the bright lights strobed. He felt fantastic, alive, too damn clever for his own good. He stretched across the narrow booth and plucked his lips against David’s.

Just a kiss. Testing the waters. When Scotty pulled away, David blinked stupidly.

Scotty leaned his cheek on his fist. He smiled. “Okay?”

David touched his lips awkwardly, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “Fine.” The blush was back.

And he might as well take the plunge. “You wanna go someplace quiet?”

David hesitated. Scared rabbit. Scotty was sure he’d say no.

Then David smiled. “Yeah, all right.”

* * *

Scotty’s quarters were crammed in one of the officer’s blocks clustered around Second Street. A cab dropped them off and they went up, side by side, to the eighteenth floor, where the view of Headquarters disappeared into a maze of halls run with grey carpet and dim, efficient lighting. It looked more like a submarine than a high-rise. At his quarters, Scotty paused, trying to remember the code. He jabbed it in with his thumb and got an angry buzz from the keypad. He muttered under his breath. And again. “Oh, come on!”

“What about your print?” David asked, trying to help.

“Biometric’s broken. I’m going to fix it.” Some day. Maybe. Scotty didn’t care about this place. It was a bolthole. His home, his grand lady, she was up there, glorious as the sun and all the stars put together. He would mend her hurts and see her immortal. This bad-tempered squirt of a door didn’t even rate.

He’d dismantle the damn thing for _scrap_ in a minute. He slammed in the code again.

David glanced up and down the grey-carpeted hall of identical doors, all windowless with a stripe of paint across them. Starfleet, utilitarian chic. “Are you sure this is the right -”

Scotty spun around. “I’m sure! Just bear with me.”

David shrugged; behind him, the door across the hall opened. Out poked Keenser’s nosy little face.

Scotty fixed the point right behind David’s elbow with a glare. “Oi, I don’t need you on my case as well. Go to bed!”

Keenser shook his head (pitying them both) and the door slid closed.

David looked over his shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“No one.” Scotty turned around. “Ah, ah, wait - I remember.”

He punched the numbers in. The door finally relented and whooshed open.

Scotty tugged on his jacket. He straightened his cuffs. He smoothed his ruffled dignity. “Come on in.”

“Have a seat” “Thanks” “Another drink?” “Sure”, the script played out without a hitch, and Scotty found himself sat in his thin uncomfortable chair with a drink in hand, watching David toy nervously with his communicator.

“Who stood you up?” Scotty asked. “Should we go ‘round and give him a kicking?”

David smiled at that; a real genuine smile. “Just a guy.”

“A guy who needs a kicking?”

"Nah." The communicator in David’s hand chirped. He did a double-take: “Shit, it’s him.”

Scotty had enough whiskey in him to be gallant. “Answer it. Go on. Answer it and tell him where to stuff it.”

It beeped again. Scotty nodded severely; David flipped the communicator open with a flick of his wrist. “Ensign Woolley."

Scotty tuned them out to give David some privacy. He went to get another drink, ice water and sliced lemon this time, something to keep him busy in the kitchen. Despite the tap and the clattering knife, he could still hear David’s end of things. “No, I didn’t wait. … No, don’t worry about it. Yeah. … You, too.”

The call ended. Scotty came back to the couch. He handed a glass to David and sat down beside him this time. “What’d he have to say for himself?”

“He said he got held up.” David pulled up a corner of his mouth humorlessly. “He was with someone. I could hear him.”

“Sorry,” Scotty said.

David shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“He was just being nice. He doesn't really fancy me.”

“Then he’s a fool,” Scotty said.

It was corny. David blushed anyway. That quick, un-canny blush usually meant that they didn’t get many compliments. Scotty laid it on a little thicker: “A _bloody_ fool.”

David laughed and turned to face him. “You’re bad. That’s just… bad.”

Scotty rapped David’s cheek gently with a knuckle. “My lines are legendary. They’ve never failed me yet.”

“Pity makes people do strange things,” David said, with a smile.

Scotty chuckled. The back of his knuckles stroked David's cheek lightly, catching the gentle bristle of his five o’clock shadow. “Probably. But whatever works, hey?”

David smiled invitingly. "Whatever works."

 

They tipped into the bedroom, tangled in a kiss. They broke apart long enough for Scotty to say “dim” to turn down the lights, and then he was kissing David again, sliding his tongue into his warm mouth to feel how David’s made room. Scotty had slipped off his coat already and his sleeves looked stupid in the dark, hems glowing blue. He shrugged out of the shirt and kicked it under the bed. He undid the magnetic clasp of his belt, pulled off the socks and shoes and glanced out of the corner of his eye to see David very quickly doing the same.

He wasn’t very talkative. Maybe getting nervous. Scotty took his hand and tugged him gently toward the bed. David followed without resistance and sat himself down face to face with Scotty, and they took a moment to look at each other and catch their breath. Scotty moved in for a kiss again, but more slowly. He ran his hands over David and settled into his lap and felt David tentatively start to explore him, too. David’s grip settled on his waist gently, undemanding, as Scotty nibbled his lips.

Scotty was doing all the driving. Or that’s what it felt like, dragging David along in his wake. He hoped David was having a good time - just briefly, until he brushed the hardness nestled in his lap, and then he reached for the hem of David’s shirt.

David stopped him. “Look, I -”

Scotty grinned and twisted his hands under David’s arms to try again. “Come on, I can’t be the only one all cheeks to the wind.” He puffed out his skinny chest proudly. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Whatever excuse David was about to make faded away. It was impossible to argue with the cocky beam in Scotty’s eyes. David shrugged and helped Scotty peel the sweatshirt over his head.

Scotty wound the shirt between his hands like a garrote and slung it around David’s neck. He pulled them together to taste David’s soft lips.

Scotty looked him up and down. He liked his guys with meat on the bone - his girls too, come to think of it - he liked that David’s arms had a powerful bunch to them, and he liked David’s tickling chest hair, the brushy line of it all the way down his stomach, where it collected again in darker curls. Scotty’s hand followed his eyes down and he smiled. Big, like the rest of him. “Hello, gorgeous.”

David blushed again, and Scotty felt the heat on his face as he pressed a kiss to David’s mouth, suddenly a lot more fondly. Scotty was a hopeless tease, but he was also really… really _liking_ this guy, his uncertain hands, his eyes that were shy like a museum piece. For such a tough-looking lad he had a virginal look-don’t-touch about him that was driving Scotty crazy in the best damn way, making him burn in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to smash those alabaster walls and feel him really lose it.

Scotty rubbed David’s fuzzy abdomen and then grasped him as he got hard. God and Mary, he was thick. Scotty’s stomach clenched like a fist in anticipation, he was getting hard himself at the thought of being on the business end of that thing. He lazily pulled David through his hand, rubbing him up and down with a feigned lack of urgency. David’s eyes were glued to Scotty's white hand on his rose-flushed skin.

“I dunno about you, but I could use a good seeing to. A can’t walk straight, can’t see straight - a good fuck,” Scotty said. He stroked David in the cradle of his fingers.

“Can you do that for me?”

“Where’s the stuff?” David asked.

So obedient. Scotty leaned to the bedside table and handed over the micro-barrier gel and the applicator. He dragged a pillow down the bed. He turned over onto his front and got comfortable, hips on the pillow, bum in the air. He set his cheek on his folded arms and felt David kneel between his legs.

David put his palms on Scotty’s back, up near his shoulderblades, to test for tension. A shudder rolled with David’s hands from Scotty’s shoulders to the base of his spine, his stomach muscles fluttered as David caressed lower and kneaded his arse. David spread him and used his blunt fingertips to spread a little smudge of gel on his thin skin.

Scotty liked the delicate touches, but he was thinking about his early day tomorrow - they could be here all night at this rate. “Don’t be shy,” he said, wriggling himself into a better position.

“All right.”

He heard David click the packet of gel into the applicator.

The first teasing intrusion, the cool, thin tip of the applicator and a spreading cold feeling inside that made him shiver. David followed with a finger to swipe the gel around, melting the chilly feeling.

It hadn’t been that long for Scotty, since the last time. He didn’t need the kid gloves. Scotty jiggled his knee impatiently, twitching one cheek playfully. David put his warm hand on it and squeezed.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Sweet of you,” Scotty said.

David plied with his fingers and scissored them a centimeter apart. He finally gave Scotty’s arse another squeeze, and Scotty felt him lumbering up close and unceremoniously, after all that gentle foreplay, pushing his knees apart. David rubbed the backs of his thighs and tucked himself down against Scotty.

“Ready?”

Scotty was hard against the pillow beneath him and he rocked against it to feel the silky friction. “Get on with it. Nowt to wait for, c’mon -”  
David pushed in in one smooth gentle press. The sheer size and stretching knocked the breath out of him; he dragged in some air and tried to relax even as his knees and elbows dug into the mattress. Scotty squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated, concentrated on relaxing his whole body toward that feeling.

“Jesus,” Scotty gasped. “Give me a min’.”

David ran his hand through Scotty’s hair, peeling up the sweaty strands at the nape of his neck. He put his face against Scotty’s shoulder soothingly, kissing at the thin, bunched cords of muscle that had wound up. David reached under them and managed to get one strong hand under Scotty’s hip. Scotty arched to give him room to play and groaned when David wrapped his gel-smeared hand around him.

“Yeah - like that -” Scotty managed, as David started to pump his hips in time with his hand, rocking into him and slipping back again. Started to _fuck_ him.

David went slow with him, but the speed didn’t matter. On his stomach, this angle, David’s size, he couldn't help rubbing hard against Scotty’s prostate with every millimeter of motion. Scotty was so hard, so tense and hot in the pit of his stomach, David was so unavoidable - it only took a few minutes, with his cock rubbing supremely in David’s palm, squeezed between his body and the mattress. It was like undoing a zipper, deep inside, something that was tightly wound together suddenly burst apart in long satisfying shuddering waves that rolled all the way to his toes and left him sweating and twitching.

David heard him moan and felt him thrash. He quickened his hand until he felt Scotty get harder and pulse, and spill over his fist. David let him fall and hunched forward on his elbows. He finished himself with a few thrusts into Scotty’s dead counterweight and then … he grunted as he came, and he might have said something stupid, like “Thank you”, he might have done something stupid, like kiss the back of Scotty’s neck, before he rolled off and let his sweaty chest heave in the chilly air. The only sound for a long minute was their harsh breathing, traffic from outside.

Then the sound of sweaty bodies stirring in clinging sheets as David turned over to him. He played with Scotty’s damp hair. He was close enough that Scotty could smell the last wisps of his deodorant losing the fight. He seemed to want to cuddle.  
Scotty’s brain congealed again from being splashed around the inside of his skull, and he fixed his eyes on David’s face in the dark. David smiled. Scotty felt himself smile back.

“David.”

“Yeah?” David put his hand on Scotty’s cheek.

“Sorry, but I’ve got an early day tomorrow.” Scotty grinned.

David stopped dead. “Oh. Yeah.”

Scotty kept grinning, gamely. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” David said again, mechanically. No emotion. The hand on his cheek turned into an awkward quick pat, as if David had meant it as goodbye all along.

“So, probably better if, you know, I get a good night’s rest.” Talking quickly to shut down all the questions forming in David’s eyes.

David caught on quicker than most of them. He rolled out of bed and started gathering his clothes.

He did it so… _quietly_ … that Scotty started to feel bad.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just… early day.” One very hollow excuse.

“Me too,” David said, with a lie of a smile. “Probably better if I go.”

“Yeah,” Scotty agreed, relieved. This one got it.

David grabbed his things and ducked into the bathroom to change. He came out straightening his top.

“Don’t get up,” he said, when Scotty pushed the sheets away from his body to - show him out? Bare-arsed, weak-kneed, and thoroughly fucked? Scotty had the good grace to blush.

He didn’t feel great for the half-minute it took for David to find his shoes in the living room, get them on, and whisk out the door. Then the door locked securely behind him, and closed that chapter, and Scotty breathed easy and put it out of his mind. He turned contentedly over and buried his face in the pillow. He was sore, sated, and he _did_ have an early day tomorrow. “Lights off.”


End file.
